


The New Normal

by lindsey_grissom



Series: Counting Sheep [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Fluff, future married couple berena fluff, with sheep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: The sheep are not Bernie's fault. Well, maybe a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a longer piece I've been dallying about over for months, however I figured we could all do with a bit of lighthearted fluff so here it is. An introduction into what I have been referring to as the "sheep 'verse".
> 
> Phantomunmasked may come play around in this verse too, so look out for that!

Honestly, Bernie can't remember whose idea it was to move to Wales.

She knows it had nothing to do with retirement, they're both still active and working hard and their little house is snug in a valley with its own hospital just at the top.

Serena still keeps her hand in on the wards and makes waves with the board and Bernie has another new trauma bay to keep her busy, even if it's mostly farming accidents these days - she's not going to complain, won't risk the wrath of fate or anything like it, not when she's seen far too many gunshots and stab wounds and car accidents.

They're known locally as the go-tos for medical advice and Bernie threatened to get one of those cheese-counter ticket machines for outside their house so their neighbours could take a number and go home to wait. She got a patented Serena eye roll for that one.

The Wales move wasn't dictated by the hospital either; they could have stayed on at Holby indefinitely. But Raf had moved on and Fletch was making noises of the same and then the place seemed to be heaving with nervous F1s they used to mentor, looking for career trajectories of their own. Over a bottle of shiraz and Chinese leftovers they'd both decided it was probably time for a change. If they were going to be looking for a place to buy together; who said it had to be in Holby?

They had of course consulted Jason. Perhaps Wales had been his idea?

Bernie supposes it doesn't really matter now, not now all the boxes have been unpacked for months, the kitchen is just as perfect as Serena is ever going to get it and Jason's little annex has been redecorated to his unique style and high standards. They have their jobs at the hospital and their aesthetic commutes into and out of work and sheep.

Lots and lots of sheep.

She hears the first ‘baa’ before she's even ready to open her eyes. Throwing out her hand across the mattress she feels the cooling empty space with her palm. Serena's been up for about ten minutes, which means the kettle’s on, the coffee machine is gurgling away and any moment now she'll open the front door for the milk and-

“Bernie!” _Bingo._

She hears a faint “shoo, shoo” and then the front door slams shut hard enough to shake the house. There are fourteen stairs in their house and when she wants to, Serena can stomp up each and every one of them like she's five times her size and weight.

For a moment Bernie contemplates rolling over and pretending she's asleep, but that's never worked out well for her before so while Serena hits steps eleven and twelve, Bernie pushes herself up against the pillows and headboard and clutches her hands together in her lap. Stairs thirteen and fourteen and the yard and a half of landing to their bedroom is spent forcing her half-awake facial muscles into something resembling contrition. Not one of her best, that.

Serena doesn't even wait to check if she's awake before pushing open the door and huffing. “There are sheep in my flower beds again.”

“Sorry.” Always best to start with that. It used to be hard, saying sorry. Impossible to some people and just hard when it came to Serena or Cam and Charlotte. Now though, she's had a lot of practice apologising for little things.

“You said you'd shut the gate.” Bernie wonders if Serena appreciates just how unlikely it is that she'll ever answer that question with anything other than a muffled ‘yes’ when they're pressed up against each other in bed, Serena's hand up her pyjama top, her lips on Bernie's neck and her thigh pressed hot and tight against her-

“Are you even listening?”

“Yes! Yes. And I thought I had. Shut the gate.” A few weeks ago she joked that perhaps the sheep had learnt how to unlock it; it did not go over as one of her better jokes. Timing being everything and all that.

Serena slumps against the door frame, milk bottle dangling from her fingers. There's a little puddle of condensation forming as it drips down and Bernie makes a note to clean that off their hardwood floors before Serena notices; it'll only annoy her when she's over the sheep.

“They've already trampled through the rose bushes again.”

Bernie flinches, throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. “I'm sorry. Leave it to me. I'll get them back to their own field and I'll sort the bushes.” And anything else the annoying balls of wool have wrecked in the meantime.

Pulling on tatty jeans and one of Serena's old work shirts, she presses a kiss to Serena's cheek as she passes her in the doorway and heads out to corral the little menaces.

There'll be a trip to the garden center in her near future and a day spent pulling up and replanting Serena's beloved garden, which will be murder on her back until Serena's magic hands come into play.

Still, she thinks, holding out an old bed sheet and running after a stray black sheep - the ringleader of this home invasion, she's sure of it - it probably won't be the last time this happens and honestly, it's Serena's fault anyway; she should know by now that wild horses - or wild sheep and oh God, she's turning into Serena with the bad puns - won't pull her away when Serena's doing that thing that she does with her tongue.


End file.
